The Ancient Breed (43 page)

Nick stared blankly at the forty-foot, watery expanse. What was he supposed to do now? Swim?

“Use your powers,” Glenna directed, as if reading his thoughts.

“I . . . can’t,” he croaked. “Too . . . ,” he pointed at the gash in his forehead, “ . . . painful.”

Suddenly, Nick was swathed in a warm, reddish-orange glow and was surprised to find himself floating above the river’s rushing current toward Glenna. The energy force set him gently down beside her. The old woman radiated the same color as the meteor.

“Is that what the doctors mean when they say you have a healthy glow?” he quipped.

Glenna’s plump chest heaved with laughter. “You are the most mentally resilient man I ever knew,” she said. “Half dead, and you still manage to crack on poor old Glenna.”

“From where I’m standing, you look like you have a whopper of a sunburn.”

Her chest heaved again. “Just letting the radiation rejuvenate these old bones. For your information, smarty pants, Mother Nature occasionally needs a helping hand after a body hits the three-hundred-year-old milestone.”

“Three hundred!” he shot back. “Why, you told me last year that you were only ninety-two years old.”

“Well, it’s a woman’s prerogative to lie about her age, ain’t it?” Glenna huffed. She was a rotund woman with wobbling triceps, a plump face, bluish-silver curls, and vigilant, black eyes.

A sudden stab of pain from the gash in his forehead sent his senses reeling. Pressing on the wound with his hand, he bent over and moaned.

She peered at him from the depths of her fleshy furrows. “You poor dear,” she said. “Lean against the meteor, and you’ll get some relief.”

Nick hesitated. He wasn’t big on seeking medical attention; he preferred to doctor himself.

“Oh, come on,” Glenna scolded. “It’s just like a man to fall to pieces from a little pain.”

He scowled. “Well, as long as you put it that way . . .” He swiftly backed against the meteor before he changed his mind.

Nick braced for the onslaught of pain, but there was none. Instead, the meteor’s therapeutic energy was warm and soothing. The slashing discomfort in his forehead faded, and his body’s stiffness and soreness vanished. The meteor Windexed his dazed mind as well so that he was thinking clearly again after the fifteen-minute treatment. In fact, Nick felt like Superman.

The meteor also stocked his mind with volumes concerning the history of the universe and its multiple dimensions. And, like a web link, it downloaded remarkable mind connections into his brain, surfacing like abstract, computer-display icons that gave him new access to vague, frightening, and yet intriguing, mental and physical abilities.

Abruptly, the mysterious radiation retreated into the meteor, and Nick stepped away, feeling for his forehead wound. It was completely healed. He flexed his repaired muscles. “I feel like a million bucks.”

Glenna studied him. “You look different, somehow,” she said pensively.

Nick’s celebration crashed. “What do you mean?”

“I just can’t put my finger on it.” She moved around him, appraising him from different angles. “Now I’ve got it!”

“What?” he implored.

“You don’t look a bit like the candy ass who stood here whining a while back.” She leaned back and guffawed loudly.

Nick allowed himself a fleeting grin. “I don’t have time for this, Glenna. I’ve got to get out of here and contact Neo Doss,” he informed her. “I think he’s in big trouble.”

The large woman clucked her tongue. “And just where are you going to look for him? There are tens of thousands of lakes in this country.”

Nick tensed. “How could you possibly know. . .”

“I’m a psychic, remember?”

“But I thought you needed your crystal ball for that stuff.”

“That’s just part of my dog-and-pony show to give the tourists the cliché they expect and pay for,” she replied.

“Then I was right. Neo was the tall man at the lake,” he stated.

“Yes.”

“You know where he is?”

“Of course.”

“Then tell me!”

“In due time. You of all people, Nick Bellamy, should know that a body just can’t go barging into a dangerous situation without a proper plan and backup,” she reprimanded him.

“But. . . .”

She wagged a finger at him. “Patience. First, we’ve got to go back to my home and see about setting Fritz right again. And, there’ll be no telephoning anyone until I say so. Agreed?”

“I don’t understand any of this, but I’ll go along with it for now,” he agreed.

“A wise decision.”

Nick searched the area around the meteor and along the riverbank. “Hey, wait a minute . . .”

She planted her hands on her generous hips and regarded him tolerantly. “What now?”

“Where’s your wheelchair?”

He watched her left, fleshy brow open and close in a barely perceptible wink. “Land sakes, Nick, you didn’t really think I needed that old thing to get out of here, now did you?”

All he could do was laugh at his prior gullibility, despite his concern for Neo. He kept reminding himself to respect his elders, especially ones who were three hundred years old.

Glenna vanished from the grotto, and with a deep sigh, Nick did the same.

After mixing a potion with ingredients that looked to Nick to be obscene, illegal, and maybe a tad bit immoral, Glenna saturated a tattered, gray rag with the gooey liquid, folded it into a wide strip, and placed it lovingly on Fritz’s forehead. She sat on the edge of the sofa for the next three hours chanting and stroking her grandson’s lifeless hand. Nick rested in a recliner across from them and attempted to identify his new mind connections without success. Finally, the stalwart fireplug, Fritz, stirred, blinked numerous times, and declared, “I’m hungry.”

Glenna pushed her considerable bulk away from the sofa and grinned broadly at Nick. “All’s well again. Want something to eat?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Well, you’re not leaving here without a good home-cooked meal, young man. Remember, an army marches on its stomach,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Nick started to object, but Glenna raised her hand.

“You’ll do as you’re told in my house,” she said firmly. “After brunch, we’ll have our little talk. I have a story to tell you that defies belief.”

“I’m just worried about Neo, that’s all.”

“I know, dear, but don’t trouble yourself. Neo isn’t at the lake yet. He won’t be there until tonight.”

Nick stood. “But if I can stop him before he gets there . . .”

She shook her head. “Neo has to go to the lake.”

Nick’s face wrinkled questioningly. “You mean he’s supposed to be captured?”

“That’s right.”

“Why, for godsake?”

“Why, he’s the bait for our trap,” she answered as if it was perfectly obvious.

“Wait a minute here. Just how did you . . .”

Glenna turned away, effectively arresting his question, and bustled into the kitchen.

53

N

eo’s top-of-the-line, radio alarm clock clicked on promptly at 6:30 a.m., and a newsman’s voice boomed through the Dolby 6.1 stereo system. Neo sprang to a sitting position, eyes pried fully open and his mind shedding its night fog like a dog shaking water from its coat. The morning sun invaded his bedroom between the window blind slats and cast linear streaks of dawn on the opposite wall. He yawned, stretched, turned down the sound system’s volume, and staggered toward the bathroom.

“Another day in paradise,” he muttered, and then yanked the door shut behind him.

An hour later, he appeared in the kitchen, nattily attired in a double-breasted, navy pinstriped suit, a lightly starched white shirt, a complementary silk tie, and burnished alligator shoes. It was easy to play the role of a millionaire – he was one. His NFL-playing days had netted him a not-so-small fortune.

He finished spreading a thick layer of cream cheese on a bagel and then called Nick on his sat phone; but instead of a ringing tone on the other end, there was a loud burst of static.

“What the hell?” he groaned. Neo tried several more times before placing the phone beside his plate and eating his breakfast.
Must be sunspot interference again
, he guessed.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Neo exited the taxi, overtipped the driver, stood at the edge of the moving throng of New Yorkers on the sidewalk, and admired the impressive headquarters of Aspirations, Inc. The office building was a unique architectural creation of black marble and amber glass that soared into the Manhattan skyline, sparkling like a priceless jewel beneath the summer sun. The impressive structure narrowed as it approached the top six floors, giving them the appearance of a mini-pyramid. The casual passerby would be hard-pressed to believe that the owners of that beautiful skyscraper were behind one of the most widespread world-domination schemes since Hitler and the Nazis.

At precisely 10:00 a.m., Neo pushed through the revolving doors at the entrance of the glass-and-marble monolith. He likened his actions to entering Hell.

The interior décor included lush gardens, hissing water fountains, and rainbow waterfalls. The elevators were recessed in mock cave entrances, and a glittering, silver cataract obscured the lone escalator that rose at a steep angle toward the mezzanine. Exotic birdcalls and whistles mingled with the subtle thumping of tribal drums emanating from a myriad of cleverly concealed speakers.

Towering, gilded letters were engraved in the black marble above the reception counter and proclaimed:

Aspirations, Incorporated

Nurturing Youth’s Eternal Bloom

Neo stifled a chuckle as he read the trifling quote beneath:

Youth is more than a state of mind . . . it’s a state of being.

Tobias Simpkins—CEO, Aspirations, Incorporated

A stunningly attractive woman, with long brunette hair flowing over her shoulders, greeted Neo with a well-rehearsed smile. Her tropical-patterned sweater clung to her ample breasts, and her short, matching skirt displayed a lusty eyeful of thigh.

She extended a well-manicured hand. “I’m Margo Smith,” she announced.

“Neo Doss,” he returned, shaking her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“I’ll be your counselor today. Would you please follow me to my desk?” Margo pointed to an area behind a distant, sprawling garden.

“Certainly.” He nodded for her to lead the way. They passed a sign identifying one of the gardens as
The
Garden of Youth
, and walked by another sign beside a crystalline waterfall that proclaimed it to be
The Fountain of Youth
.

What a setup. It was difficult to believe that anyone with a fat wallet in his right mind would actually buy into this hokum; but then again, he realized that desperate people believed what they wanted to believe. He, for one, had no desire to return to the days of his youth, not even if Aspirations paid
him
. A younger face and body wouldn’t alter his thoughts, his habits, or his shortcomings. He’d still be an old fool in a young fool’s body who had managed to toss away a fortune for the age-reducing process. He wondered if those Aspirations customers who were hit and killed by a bus the day after their treatments would be eligible for a refund.